Stagnancy
by WirelessGrapes
Summary: Without the two greatest wizards of the 20th century, the Wizarding World has stagnated. Harry, Ron and Hermione will force this uncaring world to conform to their beliefs.
1. Prologue

Hermione Granger was a genius.

It was a simple fact of the matter, that she was a genius, at least according to the IQ test she had taken when she was 9. Rather than storing unopened young adult novels gifted from relatives for Christmas, the bookcase in her bedroom was filled with the greatest literary and academic books of history, from Austen to Locke to Hawking. At 11 years old, she was preparing start studying calculus, while her peers had barely even touched the idea of variables.

Hermione Granger, for the first time in her life, couldn't figure out the problem.

It had begun a month prior, when she received a letter ( _By owl of all things!_ ) inviting her to a school for magic, claiming that she was a witch. In the next week, she discovered the magical world of, well, the magical world.

She would probably have to stop using idioms and phrases involving magic.

Of course, being who she was, she immediately dove into as many books detailing magic and the history of the world she had been introduced to. But, as she read more and more, she started to notice something amiss. All the names in the history books seemed to be the same. Black's, Yaxley's, Abbott's, and others would show up far more often than family names had any right to, beyond something like a monarchy. Occasionally a new name would pop up and do something, but they were often only given small blurbs and would immediately be overshadowed on the next page by a familiar name.

The warnings were flashing in Hermione's head, as she all but demanded her parents take her back to the magical book shop in Diagon Alley. It was there that she found the book that put it all together. _The Sacred Twenty Eight_ ( _In the 'Educated Reader' section no less!_ ) finished the puzzle for her.

The magical world was a corrupt aristocracy straight out of the 10th century.

A frustration began to build as she continued to read on. Racial science that was somehow even less scientific than a Joseph Goebbels pamphlet, traditions older than the streets of London, and laws that belonged in Jim Crow America.

When she walked into Diagon Alley for the first time, under the watchful gaze of Professor McGonagall, she witnessed a sight that would fit right into the most cliched of fantasy genres.

The Wizarding World took that image and made it far too real.

So many innocuous events had begun to make sense. Upturned noses from the lady who sold her robes and the man who sold her potion ingredients. Parents shuffling their kids past her in a hurried fashion. The man behind her at Gringotts, scoffing as she exchanged the paper money her parents had given her for Wizarding money.

So many things that she hadn't paid attention to, blinded by the excitement of magic and the wonders of the Alley.

Somewhere in that bookstore, her face growing more and more red with anger, she made a choice.

Her name would be placed in these history books. And not some small blurb that would just be written off and overshadowed by some Longbottom who took over their father's role as the head of the Wizengamot ( _Yet another travesty of a governmental body in its own, of course_ ).

No, the name Hermione Granger would be a name worth a book of its own, something to be read by the future academics of the magical world, seeking to gain insight into her mind.

Hermione Granger would be remembered.

* * *

Harry Potter was alone.

Physically, he spent most of his time alone. In the Potter Manor, he had an entire floor practically all to himself. His grandparents only had one child, and any relatives he had were simply too far removed to live at the Manor. With only Father, Amelia and his two half siblings, the massive house was far too large and opulent for one family.

As the scion of the house, he was given the second best quarters, in which he ended up living on a floor all by himself.

Emotionally he was just as alone. Since his mother's death, Father had become more and more withdrawn from his son's life. He threw himself into his work in the DMLE, remarried, and had two more kids. Harry rarely saw his father, who preferred to spend long nights at the Ministry, rather than have dinner with his kids. Henry and Sera were too young for him to spend much time with, age 5 and 3 respectively. He loved his siblings, but they spent their days playing with toys that Harry had outgrown years ago.

He would eat dinner with them, prepared by the house elves, but otherwise, he spent his days alone.

Amelia would try to engage him, try to act like his mother, but she could never be his mother. He didn't want a new mother. He wanted his own mother back.

He and his mother were visiting his Aunt Petunia on Halloween night, 1984, through some sense of family obligation. He was playing with Dudley and his toy train, when a sudden flash of green, and a shout of words he didn't understand, destroyed his life forever. A flash in front of his face, Dudley slumped to the ground, and someone grabbed him by the neck.

His memory turned blurry beyond that point, hearing his mother's scream, another flash of green, and he found himself waking up in his bed, Father crying at the foot of it.

At 3 years old, Harry Potter became a magical marvel, the only person to ever survive the Killing Curse.

He didn't understand at the time, all he wanted to know was what that green light was and where Mummy was.

When he was 8 years old, on the anniversary of his mother's death, Father drunk himself into a stupor, as was tradition. Amelia usually tried to keep Harry away from him, but Henry was crying, and Harry stumbled into his father's study.

He was rambling, ranting about 'his beautiful Lily', about how perfect she was, and how wonderful a mother she had been. Harry had been about to slip out, when his father slurred out the words that would define his destiny.

"I, I, I, knooow, those fuckers know who killed 'er," he stumbled out, "They-they di'nt wan' me, they didn't wan' me to marry her. Wan'ed me to marry some pure bitch, di'nt wan' you to be 'eir, 'arry"

He froze, halfway out the door, watching his father closely, as he pulled his head up in a sudden move of soberness. James Potter met the eyes of his dead wife in the face of his son, and he whispered to his son, his heir.

"Find out who killed her, Harry. Find out and you make them _pay_."

Harry fled the room, heart pounding and mind racing. Someone killed his mother? Someone tried to kill him?

Objectively, he knew that someone had tried to use the Killing Curse on him, but he had always been told that it had been some robbery. He didn't know why he wouldn't have questioned it until now, but it made no sense. His aunt and uncle were muggles, they didn't have anything worth stealing. His mother wouldn't have had anything of major value on her.

Someone wanted to kill him and his mother. They knew who it was, and did nothing.

" _Find out who killed her, Harry. Find out and you make them pay_ "

Harry Potter would get his revenge.

* * *

Ronald Weasley was poor.

He had a small bedroom in the top floor of his family's cramped house, a bed dressed with linens passed down through three different brothers, and a closet filled with hand-me-down clothes.

The wand he would be using in the upcoming year was the only new purchase he would have for his schooling career. His robes, second-hand, belonged to his brother Bill, his books, used and notated, belonged from his brother Percy (who kept his books in the best condition).

He wouldn't have a familiar for his first year, or even his second. It seemed like the only chance for him to get an owl would be to become a prefect in his fifth year, the source of his eldest three brothers' owls.

For most of his childhood, Ron didn't understand the idea of being poor. He knew that most of his toys were shared with his siblings, and the brooms in their shed had been there his whole life, but the idea of having the grand palace and fancy clothes of his sister's story book princesses was just fantasy.

On Christmas, when Ron was 9 years old, they had been invited to the Prewitt family's Yule celebrations. He watched as his mother spent weeks tailoring the old dress robes to fit each of the six boys in the house. His own robes were a modified version of his mother's old dress robes, the lace cuffs and collar removed and replaced with a more masculine stitch.

His sister had been given an early Christmas present, a robe bought second-hand from one of his father's work friends, a beautiful dress robe, a bold crimson and gold lined with intricate stitching and pretty designs. Some of the stitching and fabric was frayed and worn, but it didn't matter to his sister. Ginny had kept it in her sight at all times for the whole week leading up to the party. He scoffed at the idea of a stupid dress being that important, but she was happy so he didn't really care that much.

Yule came, and the family Flooed to Prewitt Manor, a palace straight from his sister's storybooks. A large chandelier decorated the entrance to the Manor, massive tapestries and talking portraits filled the walls, and the floors were padded with expensive rugs. Ron had never seen such a house in his life.

The food was, if not as good as his mother's cooking, just as fabulous as the Manor. A full spread took up the entire length of the massive dining room, longer than his whole house. Little leaves and fruits were placed all around the food, for decoration, not for eating.

Imagine that! Food prepared, not even to be eaten!

After the meal, the adults had broken into smaller groups to talk to each other, and Ron got bored. He decided to look for Fred and George, surely they'd be doing something fun. He started to explore Prewitt Manor, walking for nearly 5 minutes without seeing another soul. He thought he had made his way back to where all the adults were talking, when he heard a loud crack through a slightly open door.

He crept into the doorway, seeing a group of older kids huddled around something, and a house elf talking to the boy in the middle, with short black hair and ugly looking teeth.

"Yes sire? Yous asked for Hoopy?"

The boy scoffed at the elf, "Get me a pumpkin juice."

"Yes sire."

The elf disappeared with a crack, and reappeared a moment later with another, holding a tray with a goblet, presumably filled with the juice. The boy took the juice and turned away, the house elf bowing to no one, and cracking away for the final time.

The boy took the dress, and rejoined the group, who had been laughing about something he couldn't hear. The boy with the ugly teeth laughed louder than the rest, and exclaimed, "Ha! Now your dress is perfect!"

The group opened up a little, and he saw the focus of the laughter. His sister, Ginny, sitting on the floor, her hair and dress covered in pumpkin juice, her eyes red from tears. She looked over at him, hiccuping with suppressed cries.

Ron saw red.

He shouted something he didn't understand, and sprinted to the group, and the boy with the ugly teeth. He'd turned at Ron's shout, but didn't react in time to Ron flinging himself at him and the younger boy's fist colliding with his face.

The next moments were a blur, but he distinctly remembered being pulled off by two of the others, and the boy with the now much uglier teeth spitting out something red as he stood back up.

The boy laughed at him, as the other boys threw him down next to his sister.

"You Weasleys are just a bunch of animals, huh. Just like the muggles your stupid blood traitor father loves so much."

The rest of the evening seemed to go all too fast for Ron, the rest of the family was gathered, adults were arguing with his mother and father, and they all Flooed back home. His mother shuffled Ginny and the rest of his siblings to their rooms, while his father sat him down and asked him what he had done.

Ron retold the story with a sense of pride. He'd stuck up for his sister against those mean other kids. He couldn't get in trouble for this, he was doing the right thing!

But, to his surprise, his father didn't clap him on the shoulder and send him to bed. He shook his head, sighed, and gave Ron a gentle smile.

"Ronald, I'm proud that you stuck up for your sister, but you shouldn't have attacked the Flint boy like that. You shouldn't be picking fights with anyone."

Ron sputtered, his face growing red once more, "But-but Dad! They ruined Ginny's dress! They-"

His father cut him off with a gesture, holding the same smile, "It doesn't matter, Ronald, what others say about us or do to us, so long as we have each other, that's all we need."

Ron froze, his anger leaving him instantly, as his father led him back up to his room, and told him that he'd be grounded for a week.

Ron Weasley laid in his tiny bed, in his tiny room, in the uppermost corner of his family's small house. He pulled himself under old sheets, wearing hand-me-down pajamas and he thought.

He remembered a book he'd read once, when he was so bored during a stint of grounding that he was willing to read a history book of all things. It was a book about the major families in Wizarding Britain, and he remembered the section about the Potters.

They had been a poor family, with little fame amongst them, when one of their ancestors managed to create some kind of potion that made them all rich. Now they lived in a fancy Manor, like the stupid Prewitts, and people knew them.

Ron would turn the Weasleys into the Potters. He would make some new discovery, create some new business, and he would become rich. He would live in a massive bloody house, with a giant bloody chandelier, and way too many bloody talking paintings. He would use food as decoration for other food, and he would have a dining room bigger than the Burrow was tall.

Ronald Weasley would never be laughed at again.

* * *

 _Hmm, what an ambitious little thing you are. I know what you want, to be known for all of time, for your memory to be passed on from the history books and the school halls. You're most comfortable in your own books, but you don't_ want _to be comfortable, do you?_

 _It'll be a hard path for you, young one, but you'll make the most of it in  
_

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

 _Oh, I see how angry you are. You have your crusade and you've prepared to take up your cross. You'll either triumph in the end, or fail to find your mother's killer._

 _You won't let anything stand in your way, anyone that bold and brash deserves  
_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

 _Ooh, you have your ambitions, but ambition is not what you need. Your goal lies in the center of books you've yet to read, lessons you've yet to learn._

 _Nobody will accept it, and you may feel as if you don't belong, but what you most desire will be gained from  
_

"RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

 **AN: Dumbledore and Grindlewald both die as a result of their famous duel. Tom Riddle, without the drive given from Dumbledore's unintentional challenge, grows arrogant and cocky, and is killed by Marvolo Gaunt. Without the main harbingers of change in the 20th century, the Wizarding World of Britain follows the path of least resistance.**


	2. Chapter 1: Starting Sixth Year

_People...people...people…ah-hah!_

With a victorious grin, Harry threw open the door to the very last compartment on the Hogwarts Express, only for the smile to the slide right off his face, as he noticed Hermione Granger sitting in the blind spot of the compartment window, right next to the sliding door.

She turned her head around the entryway, peering over the book she was reading, _Secrets of the Mind_ , given by the faded text on the rather worn cover.

"This was the last empty compartment, I'll be reading this the whole time anyways, Potter."

Harry gave a critical look as the Slytherin girl turned and stuffed her nose right back into the book. He looked back down the hallway of the train, confirming that, yes, there were no more compartments he could check, before he shrugged his shoulders, and slid into the opposite side from Granger.

"You could've sat in view of the window. Got my hopes up, you did."

"This was more comfortable," was the response without hesitation. She added, "The window's bloody hard."

 _Fair enough_.

Harry settled his luggage quickly, only carrying a medium sized satchel. Hedwig had flown ahead, the temperamental owl never liked the train ride. He nestled into the far corner, next to the window. Frowning, he realized Granger was right, the window was bloody uncomfortable.

He flipped his satchel to the other side and lent up against the door side, much to the amusement of his compartment-mate, if the audible exhale coming from her was any indication.

Sighing to himself, he shifted around, trying to find the most comfortable position. He'd much rather be sitting with Neville, arguing about the benefits of dodging versus blocking in a duel, but his best mate drew prefect duty on the train this year in a lottery, a tradition amongst sixth year prefects.

At least he'd get it out of the way on this trip.

Finding his comfortable spot, his relaxed, at least Granger was quiet.

He'd believed that his peace on this trip was assured, the train was due to start any moment, when the door slid open suddenly.

The pair looked around to the hallway, seeing a Stupefied Ron Weasley looking at them with his mouth dropped open.

"The window's uncomfortable," they both informed the newcomer at the same time, drawing a snort from Harry, and a wry smile from Granger.

"You, uh, you mind if I join you lot?"

He looked at Granger, who shrugged, and he turned back to Weasley, "So long as you take the window seat."

After a moment of juggling seats, the trio was seating relatively comfortably in the compartment, and the train was moving. Harry was daydreaming, Granger was reading, and Weasley was irritatingly tapping his fingers on the table.

It only took about five minutes for Weasley to run out of patience and try to spark a conversation.

"You, uh, either of you two hear anything about the new DA&D Professor?"

Harry responded without opening his eyes, "My father said it was some fellow named Snape, Sivirus or something like that."

"Severus Snape?" Granger asked incredulously, "The youngest Potions Master since the 1700s, Severus Snape? That Severus Snape?"

Harry opened his eyes specifically to roll them at the Slytherin girl, "You know any other Snape's?"

"Well, excuse me for disbelieving that a Potions Master would be teaching Dark Arts and Defense," Granger huffed, furrowing her eyebrows and pursing her lips.

"I reckon he's probably getting his foot in the door, probably gonna take over once Slughorn retires," Weasley added neutrally, defusing the situation, "Who knows how much longer he's gonna last?"

Harry turned back to Granger, "Sorry," he sighed, receiving an affirmative hum in response.

"Well, regardless I presume he's very qualified if Professor Thicknesse hired him," she offered.

Harry recognized the peace offering for what it was, and he offered his own two knuts, "My father wasn't very enthused hearing about it, I don't think they liked each other at Hogwarts."

Granger sat up from her corner, snapping her book shut and moving it to her own satchel, "I don't think I'm going to be getting much reading done on this ride."

Harry blanched a little, she was sitting alone before he and Weasley arrived. Apparently Weasley felt the same way, as he apologized.

"Sorry about that, uh, I can shut up if you want."

Granger waved him away, "No, no, it's quite alright, it'll be nice not reading for the whole ride for a change."

Harry shrugged, satisfied by the response, "So, what should we start talking about then, if we're going to socialize the whole ride?"

The trio looked around at each other confused, before Weasley filled the silence, "I guess, since it's sixth year, all the professors are going to demand that we have our whole future planned out by now…"

Harry snorted, Father had been demanding that of him since fourth year.

"So, do you have any plans for your future, Weasley?" Granger asked, at the very least feigning interest very well, as far as Harry could tell.

He gaped for a moment, before muttering under his breath, " _Bugger me, why did I start this_ ," before coughing lightly and continuing, "Uh, sorry, it's, uh, kinda personal, give me a moment."

"You don't have to say if you don't want," Harry offered, no need to force each other to spill their life stories on a train ride.

"No, no, it's fine," Weasley waved off, "It's just, well, you're probably aware that my family isn't exactly well off..."

He gestured to his shabby robes, and Harry nodded, the Weasley's pocketbook was a common joke at Hogwarts, though he'd primarily heard it through whispers about the Weasley girl a Year below them.

"I, well, I kinda was inspired by your family, Potter," he continued, giving Harry a nod, "'cause way long ago, one of your ancestors invented Skel-Gro and some other rubbish, and now your family's rich, and you got a seat on the Wizengamot and all that.

"So, I guess I want to invent something like that, so that the Weasley's can be the new Potter's"

There was a moment of silence, before Granger spoke up, "Well, I think that's an admirable goal, to try to build up your family like that."

Her tone was...supportive, though it sounded oddly cold, Harry thought.

"Have you given any thought as to what you intend to invent?" She finished, now sounding fully intrigued in Weasley's plans.

For his part, Weasley flushed with embarrassment and looked down, before muttering, "I, uh, haven't gotten there yet."

Granger seemed a bit taken aback, but she gathered herself quickly before responding, "Well, I'm sure that you can do plenty of research with electives this year and next, personal study is what the last two years are for, after all."

He looked up at the Slytherin girl gratefully, "Ah, thanks, Granger. What do you plan on doing yourself?"

This time it was Granger's turn to flush, "I honestly hadn't given it much thought myself, to be honest.

"When I first got my Hogwarts letter," she began, her voice flowing into her story, "I'd read all that I could about Wizarding history, only to find that only so many families dominated the history books. And I'm, well, you know...muggleborn. I supposed that I wanted to do something worth a whole book, so that people would read about me at Hogwarts."

She frowned, looking down into her lap, "But, I don't know what I want to do."

"Minister of Magic!" Ron exclaimed loudly, looking around the compartment at his and Granger's took aback expressions, and continued softer, "I mean, you could become the first muggleborn Minister of Magic. I'm sure that'd be worth a book, and you're definitely smart enough to do it."

Granger snorted derisively, "Please, I've got 10 Outstanding OWLs, and Parkinson's the Slytherin Prefect. I've got a better change breaking Gamp's Law." If anything, her tone grew more acidic, as she finished with a sneer, "At least that way, they can't pretend someone else did it."

The compartment fell silent for a few moments, before Granger cleared her throat softly, changing the subject, "Um, sorry about that. Potter, what do you plan to do after Hogwarts?

Harry jumped at his own name being called; he felt his own face flush as he sputtered, "I-ah, well, y'know, it's, ah-"

Granger reacted instantly, waving her hands in front of her like a train conductor, "No, no, you don't have to answer if you don't want, Potter, it's completely fine if you wish."

As she tried to assure him, he managed to get himself back together, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"No, it's, it's alright, I can tell you all," he managed what was hopefully not a weak smile, "I mean, you two poured your hearts out for me, it wouldn't be fair if I didn't do it for you."

The other two members of the compartment waited expectantly for Harry to continue.

He looked the other two in the eyes, "You're both aware that I survived the Killing Curse as a child?"

They both nodded, it was the most notable, and only, thing Harry was known for in the world at large, though he had a different reputation at Hogwarts.

"Well, as you know, my mother died that night-"

"Wait, wait, what?" Weasley interjected, confunded, "I thought your mother was Amelia Bones?"

Before Harry could correct him, as he'd done for many others, Granger jumped in, "I'd read about it myself, I was interested to see if there was any study on how you survived."

She looked up at him, and held his eyes, "Her name was Lily, right?"

He took a breath before speaking softly, looking down, "Yes, her name was Lily Evans. She...she was a muggleborn."

Harry swallowed again before continuing.

"Someone wanted to, and did, kill my mother. I will find out who."

 _And kill them_ , he left unsaid.

Another moment of silence, before Granger broke it, "So, I assume you're planning on becoming an Auror?" She offered up.

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe"

Weasley cleared his throat, causing his and Granger's eyes to snap to him and his face to redden once more, "So, uh, we all know what we want, but we seem to have no idea how to do it. Perhaps we can help each other out?"

A pause.

"I wouldn't be averse to such an arrangement," Granger confessed diplomatically, "But I believe that we should start calling each other by first names if we intend to work together like this."

Harry let out a bark of laughter.

"The muggleborn Slytherin, the dullest Ravenclaw, and the cowardly Gryffindor," he boasted sarcastically, "What a golden trio we'll make."

But he did not disagree.

* * *

After the Sorting, Harry walked his brother, Henry, up to the Gryffindor Tower for the first time in his Hogwarts schooling. His brother was wide eyed and excited, everything an 11 year old should be attending a school for magic for the first time. He ruffled his hair, shuffled him off to bed, warning him to make sure he didn't stay up too late.

He said his customary greetings to Dean and Seamus, the other two Gryffindor boys in his year, and snuck off to the 7th floor hallway where the entrance to the Room of Requirement was, under cover of his invisibility cloak. The door was already set, and he slipped into the room quickly, finding Neville Longbottom sitting on one of the benches of the familiar dueling chamber that they usually set the Room to become.

"'lo, Nev," he greeted, heading over to the lockers, where his usual dueling robes were stored.

"Hey, Harry," Neville returned, asking, "How was the train without me?"

Harry lifted his standard school robes over his head, revealing a toned body, the result of constant dueling practice and physical activity, that he was rather proud of, as he responded, "Pretty good, in all honesty. Surprisingly enjoyable."

"Oh?" Neville teased, "Have a nice nap, did you?"

"No, actually, I spent the train ride talking to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Harry continued to dress, buckling the robes to his preferred tightness, when he realized that Neville didn't respond. He turned to see a shocked look on his friend's face, "What? What's so strange about that?"

Neville stepped towards the dueling area, warning his friend, "You best be careful around Granger, Harry, I've heard stories about her. Apparently she hexed a firstie last year, just for talking to her in the library."

He hummed noncommittally, "I've heard that story, but you know how the rumor mill is, they're brutal enough to me after all. Besides, I don't think Hermione would do something like that."

"Oh, so it's Hermione already? Just...be careful mate, she just seems a bit mental." Neville shook his head as he stepped over to his starting position on the dueling mat, "Let's just get this started."

Harry frowned, stepping over to his starting position, "Whatever, mate, I think she can help me with you-know-what."

The two sixth years stared at each other, Neville getting in one final word before they started, "Just...careful."

Before Harry could fit in a rebuttal, the magical gong sounded, marking the two duelists to bow to each other in a fluid motion, before the gong sounded once more, and the duel started in earnest.

 _Protego!_

" _Stupefy!_ "

Harry's silent shield blocked Neville's opening stunner, as he spun to his left, immediately casting a silent stunner of his own, causing his opponent to take a step back as he shouted " _Protego!_ "

He took advantage of Neville's minor dig in, silently casting two disarming spells at either side of the shield to keep him boxed in. From there, it was a trivial matter to keep Neville trapped behind his shield to slowly whittle him down.

But, it seemed that Neville wouldn't go down without a fight. The moment before Harry would've broken through his shield, Neville dropped it, and went onto the offensive.

Only the quickest of reflexes protected him from the shouted " _Stupefy!_ ", dipping to the right, as he launched a silent Full Body Lock Hex at the out of position Neville, dropping his opponent and ending the duel.

A simple _Finite Incantatem_ dropped the effects of the hex, leaving Neville gasping for air on the floor of the dueling mat.

Once he regained his breath, he grunted out, "Bugger me, you finally got silent casting down?"

Harry let the pride of his achievement wash over him, a smirk gracing his face, "Yep, that was a real nice move with the shield drop there, though, almost got me."

"Yeah, almost," Neville grumbled, "What's the total now, 342 to 25?"

Harry let the shit eating grin grow, twirling his wand between his finger tips. This was what he did best. There wasn't a better duelist in Hogwarts, even in seventh year. Even in the students who graduated in the last 3 years, to be honest.

"I think you've got 26, Nev. Don't worry, you'll catch up some day."

* * *

After the Sorting, in which he bitterly noted that Harry's brother joined him in Gryffindor, he decided to just go up to Ravenclaw Tower and tuck in early, classes started the next day after all. Thankfully, the riddle was a rather famous one, the Sphinx's man riddle, he was in no mood to think about a bloody riddle.

The knocker probably wanted to take it easy on the firsties this year.

It turned out that he was too slow to slip up past the mass of first years clogging up the Common Room, as he entered into the Room, and found Michael Corner, one of the two sixth year Ravenclaw prefects, waxing poetic about Ravenclaw House.

"...as a Ravenclaw, you're expected to be the top of the class. Speaking of which, Weasley, you finally get an O this year?"

Ron looked over the group, first years looking at him with confusion, missing the byplay between the two older students.

He rolled his eyes, calling back, "Piss off, Corner, I don't have time for this shit tonight," as he briskly walked up the steps to the sixth year dormitory.

It seemed like his luck hadn't completely run out on the riddle, as he entered the dormitory and found that he had the first choice of beds. He went all the way to the far side of the room, minimizing the contact he'd have with the other sixth years, placing his floating trunk, brought up by the house elves, at the foot of the far bed.

He cast the basic silencing and impervious charms on the curtains, and settled in for the evening with his idea book.

The inspiration for the idea book had actually been his father, who'd been going on and on about the Muggle 'patant' system, where they would claim inventions for their own, and be able to prevent others from selling a product they invented. Ron had more or less slipped in and out of daydream during the dinner, but, later that evening, he considered how similar the process was in Wizarding society, only with more protection for muggle businessmen.

So, Ron took to the use of a notebook to store his ideas for inventions, as well as any sort of research he would go into. He spent a long time charming and placing runes the book to not only open only to his magic, but, in case someone managed to duplicate that, only show basic school notes changing upon his actual classes unless they tapped their wand on the cover in a specific pattern before opening.

Objectively, he knew it was nothing particularly special, surely people had come up with stronger protections for books than the one he created, but he couldn't help but feel proud of it. He made in his fourth year to improve upon his first one, using a couple NEWT Charms to create it, as well as Runes he had to sneak out of the Restricted Section. He was pretty sure those weren't even in the curriculum.

Regardless of what others had done, he managed it, and he was proud.

The inside of the book unfortunately lacked the same kinds of work as the outside, as most of the writings inside were poor ideas, and even poorer ideas that had been scratched out. Occasionally, there would be a beginning of a sketch for some kind of enchanted item or another, but they would inevitably be abandoned by the lack of actual insight into how to create said items.

He just didn't know enough about how to make the things he thought about.

Theoretically, he could go to the library, and search through each and every book in it until he found what he needed, but there were just too many books for him to look through. Beyond that, he never knew which way to look into an idea.

Would a self-polishing wand holster be created by Transfiguration? Charms? Runes? Some unholy combination of the three? And after that, who would buy a self polishing wand holster anyways? Wand holsters were already cheap, was it really worth it to create a new one that just polishes? And what happens if the magical polishing affected the wand? He surely couldn't test out such a thing on his own wand, and nobody in their right mind would give up their wand for testing.

Each and every idea in his book had been slowly whittled away in that manner until nothing remained.

Ron tapped on the page with his quill, nothing written down. He didn't want to make some novelty rubbish that nobody would use. He had no use for a shed full of enchanted inventions nobody wanted, like his father's muggle shed.

He sighed, closing his book, letting the charms lock his ideas away, as he turned over to sleep.

There were classes tomorrow after all.

* * *

After the Sorting, in which Hermione hardly paid any attention, barring her noticing that there were even _less_ muggleborn student than last year. She left the feast early to head up to the library, where the next book she would be needed for her Occlumency training.

Normally, she wouldn't be able to get the book, since it was in the Restricted Section, but at the end of last year, she managed to convince Professor Slughorn, sorry, _Horace_ , to give her a pass for "general independent research" for her sixth and seventh years. The fat professor was infatuated with her, despite his unwillingness to invite her to his "Slug Club". All it took was a few dropped hints about 'furthering her education', wearing an older (and thus tighter) robe, and talking to him about how it was "so _hard_ to find theoretical potions texts", and he fluttered off to write her note.

She handed the slip of parchment to Pince, who gave her a slightly suspicious look as she nodded.

Hermione was one of Pince's favorites.

She made her way through the Restricted Section with practiced ease, keeping her hands quite close to her sides to avoid touching any cursed texts, as she found exactly the book she was looking for, _The Mind Maze_. This particular book would demonstrate the methodology behind more sneaky methods of Occlumency.

Rather than simply building shields, this book contained the knowledge of using false memories to trick a would be attacker, and reversing the attack. It was all very fascinating.

Her prize stuffed away in her moleskin pouch, she left to return back to the Slytherin dormitory, half hoping that everyone would be in their beds by the time she got back.

Her wishes fell upon deaf ears, as she walked into the Slytherin Common Room to find Draco Malfoy introducing the first years to Slytherin. Damn, she'd left too early to miss the crowd on the way back.

Malfoy looked over at her, a glint coming into his eyes, and she raised her mental shields. There was no way that the blonde git knew Legilimency, but training the reflex would be good for her.

"I see you haven't gotten kicked out yet, _Granger_ , surprised you haven't been purged yet, to be honest," Malfoy sneered at her, using his genuinely impressive ability to make her name sound like an insult worse than just calling her a Mudblood or something bland and uninspired as that. She really had to give it to him, it was a skill she had yet to accomplish, despite her work into the subject.

Nevertheless, she had her own social weapons, as she sighed dramatically, shaking her head pitifully, "Oh, Draco, I see you haven't learned your lessons from last year. Perhaps we'll have to reteach them?"

The reminder of the humiliation she had given to him last year when he challenged her to a duel and mopped the floor with his face flashed for a moment, before sliding into a well hidden grimace and teeth gnash.

She gave no quarter, and continued to stare him down, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Luckily for her, Malfoy was the first to break. Hermione had no desire to duel Malfoy in public, such a visible fight would genuinely threaten her place at Hogwarts.

Best to be seen as uncrossable, rather than be crossed and stop them.

He mumbled something about heading to bed, pushing through the group of confunded first years up the stairs in a speedy walk, as she gestured at the group, giving a faux apology, "Oh, don't mind Draco, he likes to act much more superior than he truly is. Just ignore him, and you'll be fine."

Most of the first years looked at the muggleborn who told off the heir to a powerful House like a little boy being sent off without his supper like she was some kind of witch ( _Damn, she thought she had the magic idioms drummed out_ ). Barring one, who glared at her evilly, who must have heard of her from some older student.

Regardless, they were not the true target for the lesson she was giving today, that would be the other older years who scattered about the Common Room watching the theatre with active attention. It was a reminder of her power, a reminder not to mess with her.

She climbed the steps to her dormitory with a spring in her step. This would probably grant her a few weeks of peace to study.

 **AN: Also, looking for an editor on this story. I'm trying to go for quantity NaNoWriMo this month, so I'm looking for someone to double check my work, before I post. If you're interested, PM me, and I'll send you a copy of the second chapter for editing "tryouts" some time in the next week or so.**


	3. Chapter 2: The First Meeting

As it turned out, Harry's first class in his sixth year would be Defense and Dark Arts and its new professor, Severus Snape, with the sixth year Slytherins. He stepped into the class, noticing Hermione sitting in the second row as he sidled into the middle of the classroom, right next to Neville.

Harry had turned hiding in a class to an art form. You didn't want to sit in the front, obviously, but you didn't want to sit in the back either. In his first few years, he learned that the professor would tend to call out people who tried to hide in the back.

You also had to be willing to volunteer for questions occasionally, but not in the first few weeks of classes. Week 4 was the optimal week to start answering questions, and answer about one per two weeks. That way, teachers wouldn't call you out very often, and Harry would be free to listen to the lecture and notate in peace.

The newest professor entered the room with a flourish of his pitch black cloak, while most of the students were chatting amongst themselves, and Harry was setting up his quill and parchment. No reason to get on a teacher's bad side so early into term.

The, rather greasy looking, Harry noticed, professor cleared his throat silencing the room immediately. He glared at them, as if the moment it had taken was too long.

"I have discovered," Professor Snape droned derisively, "that your education in the nature of the Dark Arts has been horrifyingly lacking. I fear for what will come about of the incompetence you have been taught, and we must _unfortunately_ spend the first few weeks correcting your poor knowledge."

The class seemed to freeze at his words. Their Dark Arts education had been lacking? Surely that was ridiculous. If anything, Professor Carrow had been _extra_ thorough in their Dark Arts teaching. The D&DA OWL had hardly asked a third of the Dark Arts information that they knew.

"Your idiotic professor had neglected to teach you about the true nature of casting Dark spells, compared to 'Light' spells" He dramatically looked around the classroom, meeting everyone's eyes. Would any of you like to prove yourself to be less of a fool than your previous educator?"

Out of the corner of eye, he watched Hermione twitch a little at the question, as if she wanted to answer, but didn't want to raise her hands. Then, Professor Snape snapped back to Hermione after he passed over the room.

"Miss _Granger_ ," he began, tasting the word on her tongue, as if it had been something slightly distasteful, "Are you aware of how _Professor_ Carrow has erred in his teachings?"

She seemed to be taken aback by the question, her head jerking up as if she had forgotten that she was in the class at all.

"He, um, he never mentioned the need for intent behind Dark Arts spells, Professor?"

Professor Snape's face twisted into a split between a grimace and a grin, "Precisely, Miss Granger. Imagine that, a teenage girl more well read than her professors. Yes, Professor Carrow failed to express the requirement of _intent_ behind such magicks. Miss Brown."

The aforementioned girl lowered her raised hand, asking her question, "But, don't we need intent for every spell?"

"An adequate, if simple question, Miss Brown." His eyes snapped back to glare directly at her, as he added, "However, if you had simply allowed me to continue speaking, I would have answered such an obvious question with my lecture. I am not some incompetent dunderhead."

Lavender withered slightly in her seat, and Harry took a glance at Neville, who was starting to pale a little himself.

The professor continued, starting up a pace, "When casting Dark spells, you must cast them with the intent behind the spell. I will provide an example synthesizing what you would normally be learning at this point. Can anyone tell me one of the three most powerful Dark curses? Yes, Mister Malfoy."

The blonde git lowered his hand confidently, speaking proudly, "The Cruciatus Curse."

"Indeed, five points to Slytherin," Harry scowled at the loose giving of points. He hardly cared about the House Cup, but if Professor Snape would be favoring Slytherins, that would be trouble for him.

Professor Snape continued to lecture in his monotone drawl, "The Cruciatus Curse is a curse that is designed to cause as much pain as possible. It causes pain greater than anything else discovered by wizards, but causes no physical wounds. There has never been a death from the Cruciatus Curse, which makes it all the more powerful and painful. It is commonly used in Auror interrogations due to this fact."

A squeak came from the Gryffindor side of the room, from one of the girls who had apparently never heard of the curse. Harry himself had discovered it looking through a book about the three powerful curses he had mentioned, reading into the Killing Curse. He wasn't proud to admit it, but he had a similar reaction when he first read about the common use of the Cruciatus.

He ignored the outburst and continued to speak, "When casting the Curse, which we will not be doing in this class, you must truly desire to cause the excruciating pain of the curse to the recipient. An addition of _enjoying_ the pain being given assists in the casting, but is nothing more than a crutch tons a talented witch or wizard.

"We will be exploring the more _basic_ natures of Dark spells more as the year goes on, but for now we will discuss the remaining two curses of the three I mentioned. Mister Finnegan, what does the Killing Curse do?"

Seamus started a little at the direct call out, after volunteers has been asked for previously, but he recovered quickly, "Well, I imagine it prob'ly kills, aye?"

Professor Snape scowled at the Irish Gryffindor, "2 points from Gryffindor for cheek, but yes, it does in fact kill. However, it does more than that. It is the only known spell that is designed specifically to kill, and only kill. As I stated earlier, intent is required for Dark spells, and for the Killing Curse, you must truly desire with every gram of magic in your soul to kill the target, making it one of the hardest spells to cast."

He turned to the board, writing _Avada Kedavra_ upon the blackboard, before turning back to the class, "If you were to cast this spell at your NEWT evaluations, you would be likely to get an E just for a successful cast and nothing else. I expect many of you to attempt this, but do remember," Professor Snape clapped his hand on his desk, making most of the class jump, "If you cast this, or any curse we discuss in this class, upon another student, or anything besides a plant or transfigured animal, you will be immediately expelled from Hogwarts."

He let the warning sink in for a moment before starting again, "Now then, with my daily obligation to keep you all alive completed, we may continue. As I stated earlier, the Killing Curse is designed to kill. In fact, it is the only curse in which death is guaranteed upon hitting its target."

Professor Snape turned to start directly at him, and Harry felt his face start to redden, knowing exactly where this line of teaching would go.

"However, in all of wizarding history, there has been precisely one exception to this rule, and he is sitting in this very class. Mister Potter, perhaps you'd be willing to shed some insight as to how others may survive the Killing Curse?" He finished off with a condescending sneer.

The whole class was now looking at him, and Harry unsuccessfully tried to fight down his flush. He gulped, trying his best to rack his brain for some kind of response, before words spilled out of him, inspired by the anger and frustration at knowing his mother's killer still walked the Earth.

"Well, I dunno, _sir_ , but I'd think my mother did something, since she was the only other person able to cast magic there."

Professor Snape eyed him curiously, tilting his head a little at the response. A moment passed between teacher and student, Harry was probably the only one feeling the invisible pressure in the room at the moment, before the professor responded.

"Very well, five points from Gryffindor for cheek, but an acceptable answer nonetheless."

As the class continued on, Harry came to the conclusion that the question was some kind of test.

Now all he had to do was decided if he passed or failed.

* * *

Hermione briskly walked to Ancient Runes, her mind racing after what had happened in Dark Arts and Defense.

Professor Snape knew Legilimency.

Professor Snape knew _wandless, silent_ _Legilimency_.

Professor Snape _used wandless, silent Legilimency on her_.

At the beginning of the class, as he had looked across the classroom, Hermione had been practicing her basic Occlumency shields to build the natural instinct of lifting them while doing intellectually challenging tasks. And, as Professor Snape's eyes met hers, she felt a little prod of, what she could only assume was, Legilimency in her mind.

Hermione was torn between pride at her thorough understanding of the theory of Occlumency allowing her to protect herself, and horror at the idea of a Professor being willing to read the minds of their students.

Because, regardless of her success today with the probe, she knew deep down that what Professor Snape had done at the beginning of the class was nothing more than a cursory glance, and that he could probably tear through her weak shielding like parchment.

The idea of someone going through her mind made bile rise in her throat as she resisted to vomit all over the 4th floor hallway.

She took her customary seat in the second row of the classroom as Professor Babbling fiddled around with runic tools in her bag, taking out certain implements that would be introduced for their sixth year. Most likely the prelude to what would be expected on their NEWTs, the replication of common runes, and, if they were looking to get an O (which she obviously was), the construction of their own small runic arrays.

The chair next to her slid back with a little squeak, as Ron plopped down into the seat next to her, greeting her with a quiet, "Hermione".

"Ron," she greeted back, "You're still available to meet in the library after dinner, correct?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, should be," he replied, obviously having forgotten about their meeting, at least in that moment. It hardly mattered to Hermione, so long as he was there.

Professor Babbling began her class soon after, introducing each one of the runic tools that they would be required to use in the year, as well as basic exercises to demonstrate their usage.

Despite the fact that the lesson was an exciting introduction to the practical aspects of Runes that she had been looking forward to for since 3rd year, she could hardly pay her full attention to the class. All that was on her mind was Occlumency, Legilimency and Professor Snape.

"Hermione?" A voice next to her, Ron's, broke her internal breakdown.

"Yes?" She responded with forced calm, and she was proud to note that she had managed to respond without signs of startling.

"I was asking if you got any plans for how to do the example Babbling gave us."

Hermione blinked at her neighbor, and looked at the board to see a fairly simple runic symbol up on the board, a demiguise. Right, Professor Babbling wanted them to try to carve the symbol into a block of wood to test their abilities with the tools.

"I know how to do them if you're not sure…" Ron offered after a moment's pause, "I mean-"

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione cut off abruptly, "But I'm sure that I can figure it out."

And with that, she turned back to her square of wood, presumably floated to all the students' desks by Professor Babbling, and got to work.

And she pointedly did not think about Professor Snape for the rest of the class.

* * *

 _Mondays were the best_

Ron sighed comfortably as he walked down the steps from Ravenclaw Tower down to the Great Hall for dinner. Runes was his only class on Mondays, since he was only taking 5 classes now, Runes, DA&D, Charms, Potions and Arithmancy, his schedule was far more open. After the late start to the day, Ron was able to spend the remaining of his day playing chess against his enchanted chess set, his Christmas gift the previous year.

The little bugger started getting good from all the games he'd played on it. He'd probably start losing some games soon.

His delightful stroll to the promised land of a Hogwarts meal (only slightly the lesser to his own mum's cooking), was ruined by a shout of " _RON_ " and someone grabbing his arm and pulling him into the empty classroom he'd just passed by.

As soon as his bearings readjusted, he saw his sister, Ginny staring at him, her arms crossed across her chest and her face twisted in an angry expression he didn't know why he was receiving.

Wait...

No, there wasn't anything that she would be mad at him about. He hadn't done anything to her in the last week. What in the bloody hell was she doing?

"What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

Ron blinked as Ginny took the words right out of his mouth. "...What?" He asked eloquently.

"I heard that apparently you're consorting with _Hermione Granger_ of all people? Parvati said that Padma had said that Granger called you ' _Ron_ ' and you called her ' _Hermione_ '."

"Yeah, funny enough that's my name and hers too," he scowled at her, and made a move to leave the room before she slide stepped in front of him to block his exit.

Ron sighed, accepting his fate of Ginny giving her poor replica of Mum's interrogation, "What are you so mad about? All I did was sit next to her in class."

"I heard that you were far more friendly with that mental bint than just sitting next to her."

"She's not mental."

"Malfoy spent a whole weekend in the infirmary last year. I just want you to be safe."

Ron rolled his eyes, crossing his own arms across his chest, "Yeah, and it's _Malfoy_ , prick probably deserved it."

Ginny stepped closer, her voice rising, "She brutalized him! She cut him up like a butcher! Draco ' _I know all the Dark curses in my family's library_ ' Malfoy," she exclaimed with a shockingly good impression of Malfoy's sneering voice, "You shouldn't be hanging around someone who _does_ that!"

"So?" He asked, an eyebrow raised, "She's the top in our year, she'd be a good study partner. Harry too."

"Potter? He's doing something other than hide away with Longbottom for once?" She narrowed her eyes, before scoffing and giving one last parting shot, "Whatever, it's not my skin she'll be wearing like a coat. No wonder you're the only Weasley not to get into Gryffindor." And with that, she turned on her heel and slipped out of the classroom before Ron could respond.

"Bitch," Ron muttered, as he took a deep breath. Scowling, he left the room, and headed down to the Great Hall.

Now his mood was bloody ruined.

* * *

By the time Harry arrived at the library, he found Hermione already sitting at a table, flipping through a book.

"'Lo, Hermione," he greeted, slipping into a chair. Hermione responded with some affirmative sound, not bothering to look up from her book. He closed his eyes and waited for Ron to arrive, so they could begin.

He didn't show up for another 5 minutes.

"Sorry I'm late," Ron mumbled, "Stupid staircase changed on me going up."

Hermione closed her book with a small _thunk_ , "It's alright, I was just finishing up a chapter anyways." She clapped her hands together softly, "So, given that this is the first meeting of S.P.A.M"

"Wait, what?" Ron snorted, leaning his chair back a little, "We're calling ourselves _spam_?"

Harry suppressed a chortle himself, the acronym, presumably, was just such an unfortunate name. Did she not notice that she spelt out spam?

"It stands for Society for Promotion of Ambitious Mutuality, thank you very much," Hermione responded, scowling with her eyes narrowed at the redhead, "I thought it was a perfectly descriptive name for our group."

"I don't see why we really need to name ourselves," Harry admitted, "Just seems a bit excessive to me,"

Hermione's scowl deepend, "Fine, then, we won't name ourselves." She turned to Ron, glaring in a remarkably impressive impression of the new DA&D professor, and demanded "Since you're the one with the most work probably done, let's start with you. What are you trying to make right now."

Ron scowled back at her, before reaching into his bag, and pulling out a small, crimson bound book. He traced some strange pattern with his finger on the front, presumably a password, as he spoke in a semi-hostile tone, "I don't have anything that I like right now, but I was working on a self-polishing wand holster over the summer."

He flipped the notebook to a certain page, before placing it on the table and sliding it to where Harry and Hermione could lean over the table and see it.

The page was a fairly unorganized note sheet of different possible methods of implementing the idea, but Harry had to admit some of the ideas were fairly impressive, particularly the one rough sketched runic array.

Or, so he assumed; he'd never been very good at Runes.

But still, a _self-polishing wand holster_? He glanced up from the book, eyebrow raised in Ron's direction. Ron flushed at the attention.

Hermione made a move to flip the page and see what was else he had written, but Ron snatched the notebook away before she could, giving a scowl of his own, "Yeah, well, I said I didn't have any good ideas on the train. What about either of you?"

Harry shrugged, sitting back to his chair, "It's not like I can do much but practice dueling. Can't do much investigative work at _Hogwarts_. Not like there's a NEWT for _Advanced Mother Killer Hunting._ "

Ron scoffed at him, crossing his arms across his chest, "Why the hell did you even agree to this then, if you didn't have anything to do?"

"Honestly," Harry admitted, "didn't have much to do, what with Neville being stuck on prefect duties last year. We'd normally just duel or study, and I got bored last year. I was seeing if you guys would be good training."

"Reeaaally," Ron drawled, "You were _bored_. I showed you my invention book because you were _bored_?" He glanced over at Hermione, who was watching the exchange with pursed lips, "And how 'bout you?"

Hermione sniffed haughtily, "Well, I was looking to make connections with two people who had ambitions beyond squeaking out the last inch of an essay for Charms and who was taking who to Madame Puddifoot's, but I see you two are just as immature as the rest of our year."

"Oh, we're the ones who are immature?" Ron demanded, his voice rising, "Excuse me, Miss High Road, I'm sorry we can't all be as perfect as you."

A loud, drawn out shush from Madame Pince froze the trio, reminding them that, even if it was the first day and they were the only ones there, they were still in the library.

Ron broke the silence with an audible exhale, muttering, "Whatever, this was a dumb idea. Bloody Slytherin would've just stolen the first good idea I had, anyways," as he threw his back over his shoulder and stormed out of the library.

Harry lazily eyed Hermione, who was slowly growing more red with anger. He decided that he wanted none of that, and got up himself.

"Well, as lovely as this is, I would much rather be dueling a training dummy, so I'll take my leave here. Have a nice life, Hermione."

And he left Hermione Granger, alone in the library, fuming.

 **AN: Well, I planned to do NaNoWriMo...that's what I get for trying to write 50,000 words in a month that I'm working two part time jobs, taking 17 credits and preparing for a choral concert lol. Big shoutout to Pahan for beta-ing and helping me to tighten up plot holes and shape up future plot lines.**


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